


Written In The Scars On Our Hearts

by AluraEmbrey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Magic Revealed, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AluraEmbrey/pseuds/AluraEmbrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of the celebration in honour of Arthur’s first year as King of Camelot, the validity of his right to rule is challenged. An ancient Druidic rite of passage must be completed before evening of his birthday or he’ll lose the throne without even a magic attack in site. Thankfully, Merlin is there to ride into the wild at his side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written In The Scars On Our Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiokra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/gifts).



> Written for [jiokra](jiokra.livejournal.com) as part of the 2012 [merlin_holidays](merlin_holidays.livejournal.com) exchange. I had an awesome time writing this, so thanks a lot for the great prompts! Special thanks to [Abby](abjusticc), [Richa](asoaringravyn) & [Conor](contron13542) for being fantastic and helping me with logic and plotting.

“Remind me again why we don’t like Count Argus?” Merlin said as he absentmindedly handed various articles of clothing. 

“It’s Angres, Merlin. And I never said anything about not liking him.” Arthur said, fastening his shirt collar and reaching a hand out. “However we do not trust him.” 

Arthur watched Merlin roll his eyes, but give a small mocking bow toward his king anyway. He knew that Merlin tended to agree with whatever Arthur said on some days. He’d say there was no point arguing with such a prat and telling him that he’d definitely said something quite differently when Count Angres’s return letter had arrived a few weeks ago. Besides, the court etiquette of who did not like whom but was still supposed to be your friend because it made everyone look better was something far beyond Merlin’s comprehension. Even years after coming to Camelot, he did not understand. 

“Not going to ask me why we don’t trust him?” Arthur asked. 

The manservant turned around to face the king again and Arthur watched shake his head. Arthur always tied the knot of his cloak wrong. Merlin took a few steps closer, and Arthur soon found the man firmly in his personal space. Arthur did his best to ignore the part of his body, the traitorous, treasonous voice, which longed to close the very last of the distance. Instead he focused on thinking about how to best handle the Count as Merlin’s fingers untied and fixed Arthur’s clothes so he would look presentable when receiving his guests. 

“No, I’m not. All you nobles are crazy with your backhanded hatred and games. I don’t really have time for it all.” 

The laugh Arthur gave was a full-bodied one, the sort of laugh that made you think that even the person’s blood was cheerfully flowing through his bones. “You don’t have time, Merlin? And what occupies your time instead? Because it is certainly not cleaning my chambers or doing your chores.” 

Merlin simply glared at Arthur, not offended by the words in the slightest anymore but wanting to defend himself anyway. “Following your backside around and making sure the people don’t see what a clotpole their king is definitely counts as a full time job.” 

This time Arthur gave his own glare but he said nothing in return. He only stepped back from Merlin, his cloak long since properly tied. 

“One day I’m going to properly punish you for the disrespectful way you treat me.” 

“And one day pigs will fly, Sire.” 

The two grinned at each other for a moment, neither saying anything. All thoughts of Count Angres and the other upcoming festivities left both their minds. This was one of the simple moments, where title and station took a backseat for just a minute. A rare sweet moment because it did not require the spilling of blood or near loss of life in orders to create it. 

A resounding knock on the door broke the power of the moment strongly. Arthur even felt his hand began to reach for his sword before his mind caught up to the situation at hand. It was simply a reminder from Sir Percival that the Count would be here in less than a candle mark. Meaning Arthur needed to get his man properly stationed at Camelot’s grand entrance in order to greet their supposedly honoured guest. Truly, Arthur simply wished for the week to be over. While it was wonderful that the kingdom wished to celebrate the coming of one full year of Arthurian reign, the trouble of planning a week’s worth of feats and festivities, while also playing host to numerous nobles from all over the lands, was proving to be not worth it already. 

And people seem to forget: the start of his reign is also the anniversary of the day his father died. How convenient of them to forget that, just as they always forget the death of their Queen, in honour of the birth of their lord. Some days the weight of his importance sits unsettled in the pit of his stomach. He was born to rule; Arthur knows that, but to have his existence override that of others the longer he reigns feels… wrong. His continued life does not make the deaths of those before him less important. The young king remembers every person that had died in the name of him and his country. Why not should the people? 

When Arthur pulls his thoughts back the needs of the present, he finds Merlin looking at him with an unreadable expression. It’s happening more and more of late. His friend and confidant has always been something of a misread book, wide open for all to see, but always in a different language or on the wrong page. But since his coronation he has been harder to read than ever. As if the weight of the crown sits as heavy on his mind as it does Arthur’s. 

“Come Merlin. We have a Count to greet.” 

Sometimes, he feels as if he should say something. The words will rush to his brain, the questions and the worries mixing with the thoughts he does not have time to understand. Sometimes, he starts to speak and each time simpler words come out. 

Merlin rolls his eyes but does indeed follow along. 

In the hall they find Sir Percival, waiting patiently against the wall for his King. Typically they would greet loudly, smiles free and hands open. Today though is weighted by importance, so much so that even the usual carefree comradely between knight and king seems heavier. The two warriors greet by simple nod, no words necessary. The Round Table has discussed the strategy for today in depth, the battle plan is clear. They walk in silence towards the grand entryway; even Merlin is quiet for once. Perhaps he was paying attention during the last council meeting after all. 

“Your Highness.” Leon says when they reach the doors. “We are all set to receive our guest. Count Angres and his entourage should arrive any moment.” 

“Excellent. Thank you for your hard work, Sir Leon.” 

The knight nods, bowing slightly before heading towards his spot at the front of the line. Knowing that the situation is set up as best as possible, Arthur takes a good look around. The first thing he notices is red. The Pendragon banners wave gently in the late summer breeze while members of his court have donned red for the occasion. Red dresses or jewellery for the ladies, the men sport red tunics over their breeches. Even Merlin has chosen his red neckerchief for the day. Though he must be hot with the sun high in the sky, glittering off the silver chainmail of his comrades in arms. And even they are more spots of red, their capes nearly identical to his, the crest of his kingdom in plain view for all to see. For Count Angres to see. There can be no doubt that this is Arthur’s land, Pendragon Kingdom. 

The message could not be clearer. 

The moment horses hooves could be heard entering the courtyard, Arthur could feel the change in the air. Every noble stood straighter, the knight’s bodies got tenser. Even the servants, even Merlin, were silent as if they understood the importance of this first impression. It would be the first time that Arthur would see Count Angres since ascending the throne. Though many had come from far to see his coronation, the Count had sent only a note and small token; the minimum to keep their truce a reality. 

“Arthur, it has been some time since we last saw each other, has it not? You were barely even a teenager then.” Angres greeted, his smile oily as they shook hands. Arthur looked deep into the man’s eyes, but saw no clarity, as if they could not pick their colour, as the man could not pick his side. Would the Count be here as their ally, or as the man that would be king, had his grandfather been strong enough to resist Uther’s army? 

“And you were only a few years older yourself at the time, I do believe. Still squiring for Sir Ector.” 

There was no mistaking the twitch in the Count’s brow at the reminder of his repeated failure to be knighted. One point for Pendragon. Being of the same height, it was easy to take in all the little tells Angres could not help but show. “But that is all in the past, is it not? Let us retire inside. You must be tired after your journey.” 

Angres ran a gloved hand through his windblown dark hair. “Yes, retiring would be lovely. I must make myself presentable for Court. I had hoped your majesty would grant me an audience this afternoon.” 

“Of course. That can be arranged.” Arthur replied, watching as the man’s eyes slid between colours again, a murky sea of browns and greens. As Angres bowed shallowly, the king still caught the smirk that lined his rival’s lips. Though he didn’t understand the reason why, he felt a point being tallied on Angres’s side. 

Being a gracious host, he allowed Count Angres and his men to enter first, led by the steward who would show them all to their rooms. Arthur watched as Angres pulled someone aside, whispering in his ear fiercely. The man was plotting something, which was the only way to explain why he was showing up now, instead of staying on his own estate. For years the two families maintained peace only via small notes and tributes. What could have happened now that would make Angres feel confident enough to come to the heart of Camelot? 

“Should I bother to tell you to be careful with him?” 

Arthur looked towards his left, seeing his manservant looking at him with a small smile. Though the set of his eyes belied the element of seriousness that lived in his words. Not feeling like having Merlin nag at him, he smiled and slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m well capable of looking after myself Merlin, I don’t need you to warm me of my enemies.” 

“Of course you don’t, Sire.” Now why didn’t Arthur believe Merlin when he said that? Oh, because the younger man was lying. Arthur glared at Merlin, though the manservant was unaffected by the look. He simply raised a brow at his king, before walking beside him inside. Arthur didn’t bother to correct him for not walking behind his master. There was no point. 

The two were silent as they headed towards Arthur’s chambers. It was clear that each of them still had more they wished to say, but neither was stupid enough to say anything in the middle of the hall. The citadel’s halls were full of the enemy now, even if the enemy was still sitting at his side for the time being. But once they were in the sanctuary of the king’s room, Merlin immediately set in. 

“Are you going to tell me the history between you and Angres?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, feeling the nagging begin despite his efforts. He unfastened his cloak, knocking Merlin’s hands away in annoyance because he was a grown man, after all. “Merlin, surely even you know who Count Angres of Windsor is the grandson of.” 

When Merlin simply reached his hand out to take the article of clothing, but didn’t respond, Arthur rolled his eyes again. Merlin really could be an idiot sometimes. “Does Cenred’s kingdom teach you nothing of the land’s history?” 

“Sorry, but we were a bit busy running the village. I didn’t have time to learn the crazy history of a bunch of nobles that I’ve never met.” His manservant answered, looking annoyed at him now, but still insistent. Honestly, with Merlin around to nag and annoy him, he didn’t need to marry. 

The thought sent an odd twinge into his belly. Words starting to knot inside him again, a tangle of thoughts that centred on the country boy that has somehow become his closest friend and confidant, and the beautiful woman living in the town below him. At some point he had been sure she would sit beside him on the throne, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, ruling over Camelot. But though he has forgiven her transgression, understanding that the heart cannot always be so easily controlled, his own heart no longer sings for her to be beside him. It says new words he does not wish to understand. 

“Arthur.” Merlin said, waving a hand in front of his face. Arthur blinked, but caught the hand in his face in a firm grip. Merlin didn’t seem bothered by the contact, he simply grinned at him. “And you say I’m the idiot.” 

“Perhaps it’s contagious. I should have Gaius quarantine you for the good of the kingdom.” 

“And then who would clean your royal socks?” 

Arthur couldn’t and didn’t fight the grin that was on his face, the familiar rush taking away the worry for a moment. The feeling so similar to the high of battle, but simpler in a way that he could never truly describe. “Many people find it an honour to work for their king, Merlin.” 

“I’m sure they do.” The other man agreed, still smiling. “But they don’t know that he’s a clotpole.” 

Trying not to laugh, Arthur dropped Merlin’s hand and turned his back. He had papers he needed to read before whatever spectacle Angres decided to create for them all that afternoon. Grain rations were not decided on their own, after all. 

“You still haven’t told me who Angres is.” 

Putting his paper down, the king looked up at his manservant. His arms were full of bedclothes to be taken down to the washers. Though he was but a peasant, it was hard for Arthur to take his eyes away form him. The edge of battle was clear in his stance after years of servitude at Arthur’s side. He had to wonder if Merlin even saw the differences in himself after all this time. The carefree nature giving way to a seriousness and purpose that Arthur could never quite understand. 

The Count’s visit was nothing more than another battle Merlin would experience at his side. Arthur put down his quill, locking eyes with Merlin as he spoke, “Count Angres is the grandson of King Hengest, the man my father took Camelot from. When Hengest was defeated in battle, my father allowed him to keep his ancestral home and retain a small title in the name of peace. For Angres, that is not enough, he believes that he is Camelot’s truest heir. The Count wishes nothing more than to take my kingdom from me.” 

\------

The sun rose high and hot in the sky by midday. Though autumn was upon them, summer’s heat still clung tightly to the land during the day. Even in the castle, the stones held onto some of the warmth, making Arthur curse his cape as he sat down in his throne. The thick material held in the heat of the day, but he would not abandon it now. Just as he would not let this meeting of his court convene without his crown on his head. He had had Merlin polish it again just after lunch in order to make sure it shined with the integrity of his position. 

Some might say he was going overboard to present as a powerful ruler to one man with little power in the kingdom. He would say that in the world of nobility, appearance was everything. Angres knew he could not best Arthur in the field. There, Arthur ruled unparalleled as the greatest of Camelot’s champions. But on the throne? He was still much untested. 

Arthur was not the first to arrive in the throne room; already his knights had assembled still in their full regalia. Gaius was there as well, standing off to the side as he often did when meetings that did not directly pertain to him came up. His opinion was important to Arthur, if not necessarily the rest of court. A few nobles had arrived as well, bowing to him as he passed to take his seat. He nodded in turn to them, even smiling at a few of the servants around, ones he knew had been working hard to prepare the festivities to take places. His birthday is only three days away, his coronation anniversary only three days after that. It will be a long week of work for everyone involved and it is the least he can do to let him or her know he appreciates his or her hard work. 

Taking his seat, it becomes time to wait. Arthur bats Merlin’s hands away as they fidget to adjust his crown. The other man always makes it crooked whenever he does that. (And no, Merlin, he does not have a cooked head.) Finally he gets his manservant to settle in his place behind the throne, the murmur of the room the only noise as he waits. 

Angres better not be late. To request an audience and not show up on time would be a slap in the face. An action even Angres wouldn’t dare to attempt. He would piss off not only Arthur, but also other members of the nobility. If he truly wishes to make Arthur’s life hell, he’ll attempt to garner their favour, not their ire. 

Finally the doors open to reveal the Count and members of his own small court. “Count Angres of Windsor,” the herald calls, even as Angres proceeds into the room without being beckoned. He’s got a vigorous step in his gait that makes Arthur’s spine straighten. Clearly whatever this meeting is for is something Angres considers an ace in the hole. 

“Your Majesty.” Angres says upon approaching, bowing mockingly low. From the corner of his eye he can see Gaius eye the man with distrust. “While going through my family’s ancestral library, I was interested to discover a book of ancient royal rites. Many aspects of it are obsolete in this day and age, but one aspect did raise my brow in particular. If I may, My Lord?” 

Arthur nods, keeping his face neutral. He watches as he turns behind him to take a book from his manservant. He opens easily to a page he clearly has marked. “The King of Camelot, before his day of birth in the first year of his reign, but complete one of the ancient Druidic rites. This rite must be fulfilled in order to solidify the bond between king and land, an agreement as old as time. The symbol of his reign will be given to him upon completion of his quest, proof of the earth’s approval. Should this rite not be completed, the king’s claim to rule will be annulled, his crown forfeit, until a rightful ruler is found.”

The silence in the room was deafening, as if everyone had stopped breathing in unison. The only sound Arthur could hear was the silent laughter of Count Angres, whose smile showed he was much too pleased with himself for his discovery. As well he should be. The implication was immediate. Arthur had three days to complete a quest he knew nothing about, or risk losing the throne. He had no heir, of course. Meaning the next viable candidate would be Angres himself, a man that is not only a distant cousin on his mother’s side, but also the son of the old ruling line. If this rite, whatever it proved to be, was not accomplished, then Angres would win. 

It seemed that the entire room came to that conclusion at once. A buzz like a thousand bees filled the room; whispers were barely contained as the court erupted. Arthur could only hope that the buzz was in his favour, because he did not have the wherewithal to listen in on it now. Instead he turned towards the right, where stood two of his oldest, yet trusted men. 

“Gaius, Monmouth.” Immediately the two stepped forward, already approaching Count Angres. They knew what he wanted. Turning back towards the Count, he kept his face as open as he could, blank of any panic or worry. “I’m sure you will not begrudge that I wish my own men to investigate this matter, Count Angres. Challenging my right to this throne is indeed a very serious matter.” 

Angres was still smiling, but he bowed before handing over the book. “Of course, Your Majesty. I would never dream to challenge anything, but the truth must out. Camelot deserves its truest ruler, does it not?” 

Arthur felt, even if he could not see, the stiffening of his manservant behind him. Merlin was always so ready to defend him as the ruler of this land, there was no one more convinced that he was the rightful king. Not even Arthur himself. 

“Camelot does indeed deserve the best rule that I can give.” Arthur said, still firm in his seat. The crown was on his head after all, not Angres’s. “And I will see that she gets it. Monmouth? Gaius?” 

The two older men had their heads bent deep into the book. Their voices were quiet enough that even in the barely buzzing hall, he could not make out what they were saying. But it was clearly from their gestures and expressions that the matter was being taken seriously. The library held the book in reverent hands, as if he had been given a rare jewel and not a tome that could spell Arthur’s doom. 

“Though we would like the chance to do a further investigation, Your Majesty,” Geoffrey said, bowing to his king along side Gaius. “We do believe that this book is the Annals of Ifan. He was the scribe of Camelot’s first king, His Majesty, King Mabon. If this book is genuine, then the passage is indeed correct.” 

Though the words were like a heavy blow to his midsection, Arthur did not let the pain show on his face. It would not do to let Angres have any more of an inch, lest he take a mile in his journey to destroy all the work Arthur and his father have done. “Thank you, Gaius. Monmouth.” 

They bowed, moving back to their place along the wall to allow the court audience to continue. Arthur stood, leaving his throne for just a moment, sure he would be back in it soon enough. Carefully, so as not to give Angres reason to suspect aggression, he approached the man that wished to usurp him, the man that has nearly done what Morgana has been longing to do for months. He smiles, watching it unsettle Angres and looks deep into his murky eyes. 

“In light of this development, it appears that I have much work to do. Rest assured, that I will complete this quest and bring back the symbol this rite will give me. I will come back stronger, for Camelot and her people. Our festivities will then be threefold. And you, Count Angres, I hope you will stay to join us celebrate my return.” 

The Count could never play cards. His face told too much. It was clear he had not expected Arthur to take up the mantle of the challenge with vigour. As if Arthur had not fought a dragon and an army of the undead without backing away from the challenge. Being un-knighted had done Angres a grave disservice; he had never had the chance to learn a warrior’s determination. 

Smirking in the face of Angres’s shock, Arthur called an end to the audience. Immediately Merlin was at his side, his silence stony and angry. Arthur quelled the urge he had to pat the man on the back or do something in order to make him feel better. Dealing with an angry Merlin was a difficult thing. It made the air feel charged in a strange way, electric like the calm before a storm. If Merlin were stronger, a knight or warrior of some kind, he would be the sort to fear; the raw power of his emotion enough to make his enemies quake. 

As if was, he was but a peasant, a servant. There was no need for him to worry of this, though Arthur knew he would. There was no one more loyal to him than Merlin. 

“I can see why you don’t like him.” Merlin muttered as soon as they entered Arthur’s room. The door was barely even closed, but Merlin was already in his stride. He paced back and forth before the empty fireplace, eyes set in a hard line. “We’ll have to begin researching immediately. I’ll assist Gaius and Monmouth in figuring what the options are. We can only hope that we won’t have to travel far. And…” 

“Merlin!” Arthur finally said, nearly yelling to rein in his wayward servant. The other man stopped up short, as if just realising Arthur was actually in the room. 

“Yes?” 

The king took a deep breath to calm himself, his own anxiety from the day starting to make itself very well known to him. Though he was not worried, per say, he was still anxious. It was not every day he found out he’d missed an essential part of his coronation. “Don’t you think you should let me decide what I end up doing?” 

The look on Merlin’s face was comical. Or it would be if the look weren’t directed at Arthur himself. Merlin was looking at him as if he were a few arrows short of a full quiver. “Of course, Sire.” He finally said, clearly not really meaning it. Arthur knew that the moment Merlin left the room he’d be scurrying around to ready clothes and food, enough for two because he’d insist on going, and researching the options available to them. He’d be a flurry of uncoordinated, yet somehow graceful movement, a blur against the backdrop of Camelot’s stones. 

Finally Arthur sighed, taking off his crown and cloak. Merlin left his vigil by the hearth to collect the items. “Let Gaius and Geoffrey take care of the research. If we’re going to be going on a quest there is much to prepare. We’ll need food, horses and my weapons.” 

“We?” Merlin asked curiously, kneeling before Arthur to unfasten his boots. He looked up at his king with a nearly shy look, a bit of shock on his features that made little sense in this context. 

“Well you’ll insist on coming with me no matter what I say, because you don’t ever listen. I might as well bring you along to carry my things.” 

Arthur fought the smile on his face, just as he saw Merlin fight one on his own. The manservant moved to put the dress boots up in whatever cupboard he was keeping them in lately. “You know, being your servant doesn’t make me your pack mule.” 

“Of course not.” Arthur agreed, leaning back in his seat to glace out the window. He could see people walking quickly to and fro and he wondered what they were working on. Were they looking up more information on the quest, sent by Monmouth to grab this article or that? Or were they running to gather something for the upcoming feasts? Pulling his eyes away from his people for just long enough to glance at Merlin, Arthur finally finished his thought. “A pack mule would be silent.” 

He turned his head back towards the window, but Arthur didn’t need to see Merlin to know he was rolling his eyes. This was a common dance for them, their usual rush back and forth at each other. Always candid and open, in a way no one else ever was with either of them. 

A knock on the door was the only thing that ruined the silence the two had fallen into. Though there was much to worry about, there was no need for them to speak. Preparing for chaos was common for them. With a word, he granted entry to the knocker and found himself facing Gaius and Monmouth once again. Their faces were still grave and Arthur knew he would soon be in the forest, seated on his stead as he raced yet again towards the unknown. 

Sometimes he wondered if he fought enough unknowns, he’d end up knowing everything. Would that make him a better king? Would it make him strong enough to complete all he wished to see happen for his land and others? 

“We bring no good news, Sire.” Gaius said. He placed the book Angres brought on the table in front of his king as Monmouth set down even more. “It appears this is a genuine copy of the Annals of Ifan. Making the Angres’s claim a legitimate one.” 

Frustrated, Arthur ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath to not sound accusatory, but he wasn’t sure he managed it at all once he finally spoke. “How could we have not known about this?” 

“The fault lays with me Sire.” Monmouth finally said, his head bowed. “The books that speak of this are far and few between, many books that speak of anything related to Druidic rituals were burned in The Purge. When your coronation was upon us, I did not search out all that may have remained.” 

So this was his father’s fault, truly. Arthur thought, closing his eyes for a moment. Geoffrey was a good man to try not to sully the name of his dead sovereign, but how could the librarian be to blame if the books he needed were destroyed? No, this was Uther’s doing, taking out even the smallest bits of magic inklings in the kingdom until nothing remained but what he wished to have. 

Would this magical link be his undoing as well? Would it take Camelot away from him just as it took away so much else from him? 

“What will I need to do to correct this?” 

Now it was Monmouth’s turn to open his books. He set three different ones before Arthur, opened to different marked pages. The words already began to swim before his eyes at only a glance. Half magical in their nature, they confused him, his stomach starting to twist into knots. Not of fear, but of worry. Magic always seemed to volatile, so willing to be twisted when around him. What was to prevent this from happening again? 

“You have many options available to you, Sire.” Geoffrey said, clearly knowing that his king would need a summary. “The Annals of Ifan call only for you to complete a Druidic coming of age ritual of some kind. It does not declare which ritual that should be.” 

Merlin, who had been placing spare clothes in to a pack, came closer to read the texts. He stood at Arthur’s shoulder, eyes scanning the pages quickly and easily. Arthur watched him out the corner of his eye, taking in the speed and ease with which he read the words. No fear or apprehension in his face as he took in the magical elements of Camelot’s past. 

“How many rituals do the Druids have for this sort of thing?” 

“There are many coming of age rituals, Your Majesty.” Gaius said, taking over. Everyone knew he was the most experienced with magic in the kingdom, though no one ever wanted to speak of why. “Some would take many weeks or months of travel and exercise for you to complete. However you only have three days. As such I would recommend something that can be complete quickly: The Rite of the Three Worlds and Ancestors.” 

Gaius’s finger landed on a page and Arthur lowered his eyes to take in the words the passage offered up. But before he could complete his reading, Merlin spoke up. 

“That would require him to go to four different places. A place that represents each of the three worlds: earth, sea and sky, as well as a place that houses his ancestors. That much traveling would take many days, not just three.” 

“Or, he could choose a location that represents all four elements of the rite.” 

His heart, which had picked up racing the moment something specific had been mentioned, started to beat even harder against his ribcage. “Does such a place exist?” 

“Yes, Sire. There is a land a day and a half’s journey from here known as Three Cliffs. It is a bay, which would represent water, while the cliffs could be the sky. The sand, of course, your link to the land. And it is said that King Mabon and his son are buried there, as it is thought to be his ancestral home. Though the validity of that claim is shaky at best, many say he was buried here in the heart of Camelot.” 

The four men fell into silence for a moment, each of them processing the information in their own way. He did not look at Merlin, but he could feel his electric rage still swirling inside him. With so little distance between them Arthur worried that if they touched, he might even be shocked. 

But he pushed that thought away, pushed away the worry and the words that built unsorted inside his mind. Instead he took up the weight of the crown upon his head. “It appears to be the best chance that we’ve got. We’ll prepare to leave immediately. Gaius, tell the stable master to prepare our strongest steads, we’ll be riding hard and fast. Monmouth, I leave you in charge of overseeing the rest of the festivity planning. I will not let Angres’s plot plant worry in minds of my people. Work with Sir Leon in order to keep everything running smoothly. I will be back before sundown in three days time.” 

Gaius and Geoffrey bowed together, gathering their books to take their leave. Merlin didn’t move from his spot at Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur was too tired to fight him on anything. Instead he rose from his seat, fighting off the lethargy that threatened to take him. It was time to prepare, not think. The forest could contain his thoughts later. 

“Come Merlin, we have much to do and not a lot of time to do it in. Make sure you bring us up some food as well. We’ll be missing dinner tonight.” 

For once, Merlin didn’t fight his order or make a snide remark. Instead he nodded, solemn and silent, before setting out to do just as he was told. And that, more than anything else, told Arthur that this quest was going to be one for the bards. 

\------ 

The speed in which Arthur and Merlin were prepared and on their way out of the citadel was something to be proud of. Or perhaps to be worried about. What did it mean about their lives if it was so commonplace for them to rush off in a hurry that they could pack their provisions and necessities by heart, eyes closed and minds four steps ahead. Did it make them great or sad? 

The forest, Arthur found, was the best place to do his thinking. He spent so much time out here with his men and Merlin, that he could not help but feel just at home as he did within Camelot’s walls. In some ways, he was more comfortable in the forest. The forest contained no play and games of nobility, no twist of words and meaning. It was pure in the way that life in the castle could never be. Out here the strongest and the smartest survived. Those that could think on their feet and be faster than the other guy were the ones on top. It felt like the way everything should be. No station, only merit. It was a value that Arthur had been trying to instil into his version of Camelot. Letting ability speak louder than birth. 

Turning to his right, he saw Merlin seemed to be staring off into space. Though the expression on his face was a serious one, belaying the deeper thoughts in his mind. Arthur wondered what hidden page of his book Merlin was turned to now. And he wondered if he’d ever get to see that page. 

“Merlin, stop staring into the forest like an idiot and pay attention.” 

The manservant didn’t even start or jump when Arthur spoke. He just blinked once before rolling his eyes and glaring at his king. “Why should I? You’re always despairing at my bad tracking skills and my lack of direction. As long as I follow you, I should be fine, right?” 

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’ve been paying attention to something I’ve said.” Arthur retorted, pulling his horse closer along side Merlin’s. If he wanted, he could reach out and shove the other man, but with his luck Merlin would end up falling and breaking something. Which they didn’t have time for today. They were already going at a slower pace than Arthur preferred. Though his plan was to go steady well into the night, breaking only for a few hours sleep, then push harder in the morning. 

“Oh you say it often enough, something was bound to get through.” Merlin agreed, making Arthur smile and shake his head. “But you are sure we’re going in the right direction, right?” 

Now it was Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yes Merlin, we are indeed going in the right direction. Three Cliffs Bay is in the east; we are going in the east. Look at the sun and see what we’re heading towards. You’ll find that we’re definitely on the right path.” 

Merlin just shrugged, not bother about the details, it seemed. “As long as you’re sure.” 

“Yes, I’m sure. And one day you might actually trust me on that.” 

“Hmm, one day.” 

Arthur again resisted the urge to shove Merlin from his mare. He had to think about the long-term goal of this trip. Shoving Merlin would be fun for a minute, but it would slow down the pace. Not to mention dealing with his whining would be annoying as well. 

Glancing again at the sun, Arthur noted that they had been riding for nearly three hours straight. The sun was not going to set for at least another few hours though. Thank goodness for long summer days. The nights had not started to come sooner quite yet and Arthur was never more thankful for the sun’s persistence. It would certainly work in his favour right now. Though he’d like to stop soon to water the horses. Being pushed for so long would mean they’d need a little more attention. Time spent, but hopefully gained in the long run. 

There was a stream another few miles ahead, if Arthur remembered correctly. (Of course he did.) They could rest and water then. 

Silence again fell amongst the two men and Arthur was left to simply think once more. There wasn’t much that he could do otherwise. In fact, he couldn’t even plan very well. The information Gaius had given him on the Druidic rite had been vague at best. There was a script for him to read, written carefully and kept safe in Merlin’s hold. But aside from knowing where to go and what to say, he didn’t know much else. What would happen after he said his words? And what sort of symbol would he be receiving? 

He also wondered if his father had preformed this rite, or any other one upon taking the throne. It would have been years before Arthur’s birth, years before his mothers death, in a time when magic was still allowed in Camelot. The Annals of Ifan would have been more readily available, and Uther might have been looking for a way to strengthen his claim to the throne. Conquering rulers were always contested, even if they were taking over a warring, disputed land. 

Yes, surely his father would have performed this and what symbol did he get? Arthur never saw anything that indicated it was a nearly divine gift from the Old Religion. Or maybe his father had gotten rid of it. Just as he had gotten rid of so many other things that represented magic and his fight against it. After years on the throne, Uther would not have been keen to keep whatever symbol he may have received, not once the Purge would have started. No, the symbol would have been one of the first things to go. The way for him to tell the Old Religion that it no longer had a home in the Pendragon Camelot. 

“Arthur, don’t think to hard or you may hurt yourself. I’d hate to see that happen.” 

Merlin’s voice was a shock away from his thoughts, but Arthur kept his expression schooled. Instead he did finally end up giving the other man a shove. Though Merlin was able to keep steady in his seat, so thank goodness for small favours. 

“What happened to the days that I had a quiet, respectful servant?”

“Pretty sure you threw knives at him till he ran away.” Merlin answered in a singsong voice, sounding far too smug about it all. 

“Don’t get too happy.” Arthur warned, turning his head to smirk at Merlin. “George is always willing to step up. Surely he’d be even more keen now that I am king.” 

Merlin glared at him in turn, as he always did whenever his substitute was brought up. There was something about George that Merlin just didn’t like. Though, Arthur felt the same way, so he couldn’t blame his friend. “You find him dull and you know it.” 

The king just shrugged, not bothering to agree. Merlin understood what his silence meant. After all their time together, there was no way to miss his meaning. Arthur would never tell Merlin he was right, but his silence could say much more. 

“There’s a stream up ahead, we’ll stop for a bit to water the horses once we reach it.” He said instead, getting them back on track. 

Merlin nodded his head in acknowledgement, yet another sign that he didn’t respect their stations. A proper servant would have said “Yes, Sire.” At the very least. Not Merlin of course. He was a class all his own. Though that was something Arthur had come to rely on. Never in his life would he think he’d be so dependent on one person, yet Arthur knows that Merlin is a necessity in his life. He’ll never say it out loud, and certainly never to Merlin, but it’s the truth. Even after all these years, there’s still just something about him, something that Arthur has come to appreciate even if he can’t pinpoint it. 

The babbling sound of water hits his hears soon enough and Arthur doesn’t waste any time getting off his horse and leading it to the water. Thankfully Merlin does the same, though instead of checking on Arthur, he plops down next to the stream and stretches out. Truly the worst manservant possible. But Arthur doesn’t waste the time to scold him. They’ll only be stopped for a half hour at most. Just long enough for the horses to get some rest before they set off again. He does not plan to let them stop till nightfall, and perhaps not even quite then if he can help it. 

“We’re not staying long.” Arthur reminds Merlin, who has now closed his eyes in mock sleep. 

The younger man humms in response, but doesn’t say anything. And he certainly doesn’t open his eyes. Arthur gives him up as a lost cause. Might as well allow Merlin rest as well; prevent him from complaining later. 

“Do you want to see what Gaius says you have to say for the rite?” 

“I’m not bothered.” Arthur replied, straightening his gloves on his hands. In fact, he’s contemplating taking them off. Leather in this heat is not fun. 

“Of course, your Pratliness.” 

Eyes narrowed and now annoyed, Arthur walks closer to Merlin. He’s still laying on the ground, eyes closed as if he’s preparing for an afternoon nap and not embarking on a quest. The manservant can’t see Arthur, but surely he sensed his presence because his bodied stiffened just that much once Arthur was standing over the other man. 

“And just how does not wanting to read whatever Druid babble Gaius has given me make me a prat?” 

Finally Merlin opens his eyes, but he doesn’t look entirely happy. Though he was still lying on the ground, he somehow appeared to be looking down on Arthur as he spoke. “This babble is important. Just because magic is outlawed in Camelot doesn’t make it not real. This rite is important and I’d think you’d like to ensure you did it right.” 

“Are you saying I’m not taking this seriously enough? Because I’ll have you know Merlin, that I am. It is, after all, my own kingdom that I am standing to lose. If you really think that I would not care about…” 

Arthur was in his stride, ready to let the idiot really have it. How dare Merlin imply that he would let anything take him from Camelot? But the sound of an arrow rushing through the air took precedent over his tirade. 

Immediately, Arthur dropped to the ground, using his armoured body to cover Merlin’s unprotected one, rolling them both out of the way and nearly into the stream. He couldn’t be bothered to care about that right now though. A little mud on his armour was nothing. Instead he pulled his sword out of his sheath, standing before Merlin as men began to pour out of the forest. 

Five, Six, Ten, no an even dozen. Twelve men with the plan to kill, and there was only Arthur and Merlin to fight them off. Quickly he pulled his spare sword off his horse and threw it at Merlin. He’d have to hope that some of Merlin’s time on the training field had actually paid off. 

Two men came at him at once. Instinct kicked in. The skills hard won in hours of training and years spent on the battlefield allowed him to easily kick one man away, leaving him with just one to deal with at the moment. Wanting the battle over quickly, he went for a crippling blow, a powerful upward swing into the man’s gut. He went down, holding his stomach and groaning in a satisfying way. But the second man was not down. Arthur felt arms reach around his body, trying to incapacitate his arms so that another could aim for where he as vulnerable. But not all of his training was with a sword. Arthur knocked his head back hard, feeling the other man’s skull hit his own. Without waiting a second, Arthur pulled his arms free, elbowing the man in the gut to stagger him, then turning around to deliver a knock out blow to the head. 

Arthur didn’t have time to be proud of himself. There were still more men to take care of. He allowed himself not even a breathe in between knocking down his second attacker and reaching for the next man. He didn’t know who they were or where they came from. Perhaps Angres had hired them to attack, to make sure Arthur could not get to Three Cliffs Bay and back in time. Maybe they were simple bandits, attacking someone that appeared to be a knight and his squire, hoping to get some loot to sell. There were many options, but Arthur did not care about any of them. All he knew was that he needed to fight in order to survive. 

His blood nearly sang in his veins, the thrill of battle racing through him happily. When younger he had questioned how much he enjoyed fighting. His father had been a conqueror, was Arthur meant to be the same? But after years, he had come to embrace this side of himself. It was this ruthless ability to fight, to knock down men four and five without questioning, which allowed him to protect his kingdom. So he would be grateful for this side for both himself and for Camelot. 

With nearly half the men groaning on the ground, Arthur turned finally to check on Merlin. He had wished to check before, but had decided to put his hope in faith. Merlin had survived many battles like this before; surely he could survive this as well. Once he looked, he saw that Merlin was staring down a hungry looking man. The bandit must have been Percival’s size, perhaps even larger. And he was looking at Merlin like he would be an easy snack before getting to the main course. 

For a moment Arthur stood frozen, watching as the tall man circled his friend. But it was not the man that froze him. No, it was the look on Merlin’s face. He was utterly calm. Though the sword was held nearly limp in his hands, he did not appear to be afraid. His dark blue eyes were slitted in concentration, as if he were waiting for this man to make a mistake, to reveal his weakness. Merlin looked as if he had all the time in the world to wait before he needed to strike. There was something about him; that same indefinable quality that popped up mockingly from time to time, that Arthur could not look away from. 

How could a peasant with no training be so brave in the face of this adversity? That was always the question, even after years of knowing each other, but never the answer. 

Not wishing to watch longer, in case Merlin’s surety proved to be false, Arthur made to sprint towards him. But one of the men on the ground had another idea. He stuck a leg out to trip the king, and he found himself with a mouthful of dirt and leaves. Arthur sputtered, trying to catch his breath, but instead being caught up in the arms of two thick men. They yanked him hard to his feet, each holding an arm and beginning to laugh. Their joy was obvious. To them they had won; they had bested a knight of Camelot in combat and his life was forfeit to their power. The feel of cold steel against his throat made Arthur tense, but he would not beg or cower. Not for the likes of them.

“No.” 

It wasn’t Arthur that spoke, but Merlin instead. Arthur looked up to see his manservant staring at the scene before him with fear in his eyes. The fear, Arthur realised was not for himself, but for Arthur. The lumbering man that had been trying to attack the manservant lay somehow on the ground, not moving, and Arthur wondered how Merlin dispatched of him so quickly, so easily. 

“Run, Merlin. Just go.” 

“Never.” The manservant said with such assuredness it made a part of Arthur’s blood singe happily. Merlin walked slowly closer, like a hunter watching it’s prey. His eyes were fierce, the same fearless power back from before, but now combined with the crackling anger that he was known to exude. If Arthur did not know Merlin, he would be wary of him right now. Maybe a part of him still way. 

“Let him go.” 

The man holding the sword against Arthur’s throat laughed loudly, clearly not feeling the same electricity in the air that Arthur did. He pushed the metal further against the king’s throat, nearly hard enough to draw blood. His voice was rough and unpolished, like gravel digging deep into a wound. “I don’t think I will. You might notice, but you ain’t got room to talk. All alone with your master in trouble. Best do as he told to you boy.” 

Merlin didn’t flinch; he didn’t blink. But he did stop speaking, his eyes still speaking of power. But now, Arthur saw that they held another note: remorse. The two locked eyes for a moment, blue against blue and Arthur felt the intense urge to scream. The pit of his stomach danced, words erupting unsaid, a sense of foreboding egging them on. The air was heavy still with something Arthur did not wish to explore. 

“I would never leave. I would never let you harm him.” Merlin said, dropping the sword to the ground as if it were an afterthought and not his only tool against the bandits. Instead, he raised his empty hand, eyes locking again with Arthur’s (who must be seeing things in the sunlight, because they appeared nearly golden) before he finally spoke again. “Forgive me. _Lluched Trawidau_.” 

The words were strange when they hit Arthur’s ears, like Merlin was making up a play language for children. Though there was nothing playful about the voice in which he spoke. It was deeper and heavier than Arthur had ever thought it possible to go, full of a raw intensity that made his hair stand on end. Immediately he felt the men behind him stiffen, like something had seized them. Before he could question what, their bodies started to shake as if struck by lightening. The metal on their clothing banged against his chainmail, clattering as they shook, before they all fell suddenly limp. 

Regaining his footing, Arthur turned to look at the men that had been his temporary captors. They all lay on the ground, silent and still. Along the ground there were black marks, like lightening had indeed struck, repeatedly and immediately in the exact place each individual man had stood. A part of him sought to check if they were breathing, wished to see the extent of the power’s work, but the rest held him still. He could not even turn around. 

Turning around would mean facing the reality of the situation. Seeing the aftermath was one thing. They were men strewn upon the ground, a common sight for a warrior. But if he turned around, he’d see the source of this attack

“Arthur?” 

He closed his eyes, not answering for fear what he would say. His father’s voice rallied in his mind, yelling _magic, magic, sorcery, death_! The anger he father felt swept into him like a strange inheritance. Magic had done him so much wrong, had stolen and taken from him his entire life. First his mother, then it drove Morgana to madness before it took his father from his life as well. Magic took and consumed and should not be allowed. 

“Arthur?” Merlin’s voice was quiet now, heartache clear in the words. And fear, oh fear followed his voice like a plague he could not stop by completely some fool quest in a maze. 

And the rest of his brain berated his quick judgement. This was Merlin. Merlin. There was no one more loyal to him than his manservant. No, his friend. His confidant. The person whose presence he craved and relied on like he had not ever thought he would ever need before. Merlin had laid his life on the line for Arthur time and time again, had stayed, silent but still there, as Arthur grieved his father even while the rest of the nation forgot. This was Merlin, who had helped him pack each time a quest called him away from his country and stood at his side as he faced the impossible. 

“We’re leaving.” Arthur opened his eyes and turned on his heal quickly. Without lifting his eyes from the ground, he walked over to his horse and pulled himself easily onto the saddle. 

“What, but Arth…” 

“Damn it, Merlin!” Arthur yelled, his eyes closing again for a moment against the onslaught of thoughts vying for his attention. Not now. There were other things to do, to worry about. Things far easier to focus on. “Get on your damn horse. We’ve lost enough time as it is.”

There was silence for a moment, stillness in the air that felt wrong and heavy. A cloud had descended upon the clear, beautiful late summer day, clinging to their backs, clogging their lungs. “Yes, Sire.” 

Arthur waited a moment; his eyes now open but stubbornly staring ahead into the distance. The forest was still as it had been, as if it did not see a difference in the world as Arthur did. No, perhaps the forest had always known, and the comfort it provided was but a mockery, as it nurtured what the citadel preached as wrong. Soon, he heard the sound of hooves, indicating that Merlin had mounted and steadied his stead. Arthur tapped his horse lightly to bring it to a trot, and Merlin followed along. 

The sound of hooves along the forest floor was all that could be heard. 

\------

The forest was never truly a silent place. The babble of brooks and the pitter-patter of creatures created an endless symphony of noise in the nature world. But none of that really made any difference to Arthur as they rode onward. The only sounds he could hear were the thoughts swirling in his mind, and endless set of contradictions and benedictions. At some points he raged, angry as words like betrayal and pyre danced along the seem of lips. How could he be lied to for so long? How could he have not known, not seen? 

But then there was the soothing voice, which sounded oddly like what he imagined his mother would sound. It told him to listen, to inquire. Maybe there was a good explanation for all of this. Maybe he just needed to let Merlin say what he needed to say. It was only fair, right? Merlin had been loyal to him for many years. A fair trial and hearing was the least of which he could offer him. For the bridge that spanned the distance between him and his manservant was not one he wished to burn. Not now, not ever. 

And then, there was a voice even louder than all of those. It was the voice of fear whisper in the backdrop of all his other thoughts. It told him that magic was his enemy, that it wished nothing more than to hurt him. Maybe not physically, but emotionally. It had taken his mother, his father and his sister. And now it would take his dearest friend. It would pull and twist until the grip that he had on Merlin became as inconsequential as a drop of rain in the sea. And then it would take the last and strongest pillar of his life from him. He would be alone, if he allowed this magic to continue to fester in his friend’s mind. It would take. 

Take. 

Take. 

Those were the thoughts that worried him most. The thought of not having Merlin there was one he could not bare. Though the worst manservant Arthur could imagine, Merlin was much better at the things that truly mattered for one constantly at the king’s side. He was brave, never afraid even when they were surrounded on all sides by the very jaws of deaths. (Though his fearlessness made a lot more sense now than it ever had before. Merlin was probably a scarier threat than any random bandit they met on the road.) And Merlin was smart. Though obtuse about many things that made a lot of sense to Arthur, like court life and which weapon killed the best, there was no better advisor than Merlin. He saw the world in a way that stripped away the blurs that threatened to obscure issues. Instead, he saw the world in a clarity that was genuine and beautiful. He understood people and their hearts, even Arthur’s own. Merlin’s advice was invaluable, irreplaceable. So shoddily mended socks were a small cross to bear for the words of wisdom and heart that Merlin offered instead. 

Could Arthur really bring himself to live without that? Could he kill Merlin to uphold the law of the land? Would be even be able to bear sending him away for safety’s sake? 

The sun beat down on him relentlessly as he rode, shining light on each question, each pondering, in turn. There was no way to escape his thoughts and for once Merlin was silent and did not try to intrude. A fact Arthur was not sure he was grateful for, though it was probably best. He had no way of knowing how he’d respond to Merlin now if he spoke. For now it was enough to have Merlin there, riding along side him where he knew where he was. 

Where he could watch him. 

Where he could see him. 

When the sun began to sink well below the horizon line and the forest path became harder and harder to discern, Arthur finally relented his thoughts long enough to gesture for a halt. The area in front of them was as good a place as any to camp for the night: a small clearly between trees and plenty of kindling around for firewood. Though with a sorcerer in their midst, would they even need it? 

Merlin followed the silent order immediately, but he did not say anything. Instead, Arthur watched out the corner of his mind as the man ( _sorcerer, sorcerer, sorcerer_ ) dismounted and began to gather their things for the night. It was a usual ritual for them and there was no need for them to speak. It was a small kernel of normality in Arthur’s world, barely even memorable, but he would take what he could get right now. Anything to soothe his swirling mind. 

The king himself moved to pull out their bedrolls. Merlin used to be in charge of carrying them, but after an unexplainable incident involving a substance of questionable nature that Gaius had given Merlin to take along, Arthur took it upon himself to keep track of the rolls. 

Shaking them perhaps more vigorously than necessary, Arthur placed them flat on the ground. Usually he’d place one on each side of the fire, so that each of them could be warn into the night. But for now he placed Merlin’s mat next to his, where he could watch. If Merlin noticed, he said nothing. 

It didn’t take long before a small fire was roaring between the two men, pieces of bread and salted meats in their hands. They hadn’t brought any food that required cooking. Just meats, bread and cheese. Enough to live on, but not anything that they’d have to stop to make. If they really wanted, they could eat while riding, save them time. Though now Arthur nearly regretted that decision. Instead of watching Merlin prepare them food, he was instead sitting and watching the fire dance in front of his face. 

Merlin had started the fire. He had done it using a flint and stone, the same way any knight or regular man would do it. He hadn’t uttered a word or raised his eyes in order to do magic. But maybe he didn’t need to do that. Arthur didn’t know. It was quite possible that magic was already such an ingrained part of Merlin’s life that he was powerful enough to preform it wordlessly, motionlessly. What would it take for one to be strong enough to do that? Even Morgana had to use words, tools or motions in order to preform magic; he’d seen it all. And she felt like the most powerful adversary that Arthur and Camelot had. 

Unless that was Merlin. A man that had gotten himself ingrained into the capital’s power in order to take it over once he was strong enough. It would take a strong man, a patient man to lay in wait for that long. There was no doubt in his mind that if put to the task, Merlin could be that patient. Arthur had seen the extent of his devotion before; he could do anything he put his mind to. But it was those same displays of devotion that told Arthur that his thoughts were wrong. Merlin was not here to take over Camelot or hurt Arthur in anyway. No, the friendship they had fostered was genuine and real. 

Merlin was truly devoted to Arthur. And maybe… A thought, one that during the hours of riding had somehow been overlooked, suddenly came into his head. What if Merlin had learned magic for him? It would be such a Merlin thing to do. He could not be strong like a knight, but maybe this was his misguided way of being worthy of Arthur’s company. And the idiot, the noble, wonderful idiot, hadn’t realised the slippery slope in which he was looking down. 

Yes, that was it. It had to be. 

“How long?” There was no preamble to his question. Arthur’s words simple appeared out of the air without any seeming prompting. But Merlin would know what he meant. 

“Forever, Sire.” 

The answer was not one he expected. Arthur dropped his food to the ground and finally turned to look at Merlin fully. The manservant was sitting hunched over, a burden heavy on his back. His eyes were sad, like he had lost something precious, and they held no hope, no joy. Their usual sparkle gone like the magic had taken it away. 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Arthur finally said. “What do you mean forever? I want to know how long you have been doing magic, not how long you intend to keep using it.” 

Merlin sighed, and Arthur watched him close his eyes as if preying for strength. An urge to reach out struck the king strongly. A saddened look such as that had no place on Merlin’s face. His was a face meant for goofy grins and smirking. “I have been doing magic all my life, Arthur. Before I could walk, or even talk. Magic isn’t a skill I learned; it’s part of me. I’ve heard it been said that I am magic.” 

No. The words weren’t making any sense. What Merlin said just wasn’t logical and it served to stroke the flames of Arthur’s anger. He wanted straight answers, not platitudes and riddles. Damn it, he just wanted to hear the right thing. Because if what Merlin said was right, then there was no hope. If Merlin had always had magic, then everything was doomed from the start. Merlin had been magic’s before he had been Arthur’s and that was… no. 

Merlin was his damn it. His manservant, his friend, his everything. 

“You’re mine.” Was all Arthur said before grabbing Merlin by the tattered end of his neckerchief and pulling him close. He felt Merlin’s gasp of shocked breath along his cheek, the air hot and steamy like the feeling deep inside him. They had never been this close before; there was never a need to be. In fact, there should not be a need for it now. Except Arthur had to make sure Merlin understood, that the magic understood. 

“The magic can’t have you.” 

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur didn’t give him a chance. Instead he placed his own mouth of Merlin’s, kissing away the words with insistent lips. He just wanted to prove a point. That was all. Arthur just had to show the magic who was boss around here. He was the King of Camelot. He was Merlin’s master. Not magic, Arthur. 

But the lips against his own were rough and chapped, like worried teeth had bitten them raw and Arthur couldn’t help but lick and soothe the ache away. It was his duty, as Merlin’s master, to take care of him. Merlin was his responsibility. So Arthur reeled in the intensity of his kiss, pulling the anger back a bit, to reveal the care he was more than capable of showing, the same care with which he loved Camelot and those most dearest to him. 

It was then that the kiss changed. Merlin’s lips stopped being slack with shock, and instead joined the fray. The manservant pushed back, hands reaching up to grab hold of Arthur’s neck. The king could feel the way in which Merlin’s fingers dug into his skin, clinging to him tightly. An animalistic part of him loved the feel, it roared with happiness, with pride and even more vigour. Yes, let Merlin cling to him, let Merlin need him just as much as he needed Merlin. The man was his after all, his, his, his. There was no reason that Merlin should not feel the same desperation that Arthur could not help but feel at the moment. 

The forest floor is never a comfortable place, but Arthur paid it no mind and knew that Merlin wouldn’t mind either. So he pushed the thinner man till he was lying down, covering Merlin’s body with his own. He met no resistance, and the best inside him only roared louder. He imagined a great lion, no a dragon inside himself. Flying higher and higher inside the longer they touched. The beast’s hot, fiery breath the flame to his fervour. There was nothing to stop him from touching more, from touching harder. 

Merlin was his and he would show him that, he would not let the magic take him away. Not Merlin. 

Needing more, he retched his mouth away from Merlin’s and was pleased to hear the gasp from the younger man. It was as if he had forgotten to breathe at all while kissing Arthur, so wrapped up in the feel of his king. Beautiful. And Arthur would make more beauty. He’d mark the pale skin of Merlin’s neck like a brand on a horse. Every inch of it if he had to, even if it took hours of him sucking and nipping at the skin, feeling Merlin moan and squirm underneath him. 

And god, that was beautiful too. Merlin at his disposal, desperate for whatever Arthur gave him. Every few moments Arthur heard his name, strung out, bent and broken. But still sounding like a sweet benediction from those lips. As if Merlin was asking for forgiveness in each breath, needing Arthur to give him salvation for his sins. 

“God, yes. Arthur. Arthur.” The sorcerer (sorcerer!) breathed, still unable to properly catch his breath. But Arthur could feel how much he loved it. The hand along his neck was sure to leave fingernail marks later on from how tightly the boy was holding on, and even the other hand holding onto his arm made the chainmail dig painfully into Arthur’s body. 

It hurt, but it was wonderful. “Mine.” 

And Merlin didn’t argue, he only moaned louder, beginning to shake and wiggle more underneath him. Arthur couldn’t feel through layers of clothes and the thickness of chainmail, but he knew that Merlin was hard. The boy was loving it, he wanted to be owned by Arthur, wanted Arthur to replace the magic and make things right. 

Arthur was nothing if not a dutiful king. 

Reluctantly he pulled one hand away from the tangle of Merlin’s hair, only to slide it down the body of the man below him. Even through the leather gloves, he could still feel ever shakes and shiver of Merlin’s body. The servant’s chest heaved with every breath, as if he could not get enough air, as if he needed more. Arthur thought of letting up his hold on the boy, to allow him more room to breathe, but the idea quickly went away form his mind. Merlin was his and the man could breathe him in, should breathe him in. 

Feeling bold, because Merlin was his, Arthur’s hand skimmed under the other man’s tunic. The muscles of his thin stomach quivered under his touch. He glided his gloved hand along the skin and smirked when Merlin arched his back into the touch, like a cat desperate for his master’s attention. 

“Please.” Merlin begged, his voice low, nearly unhearable between his pants. But Arthur heard the pleading loud and clear. And he would answer. 

Because he was asked, because he was needed, he reached into Merlin’s breeches and rubbed his hand along the hot, hard cock held inside. Instantly Merlin arched and screamed. It was clear he was desperate and Merlin’s need only made Arthur’s own arousal even more acute. The chainmail and clothes on his body felt like a curse of chastity, but that didn’t stop him from grinding his erection onto Merlin’s thigh. 

Though the press of chainmail must hurt, Merlin said nothing about it. He only pushed his knee up, giving Arthur both something more to grind on, and more room to touch. 

Touch, yes, touch. The glove meant he could not feel how smooth or soft Merlin’s cock was. He could not feel the heat or the drips of pre-come along the slit. But he could imagine them. Surely Merlin’s cock would be as soft as the delicious and enticing skin on his neck. Arthur bit down hard on the neck before him, not even bothering to soothe the ache away with kisses as he imagined how Merlin would taste in his mouth. Delicious. His. 

Thankfully there were some things that Arthur did not need to imagine. And that was the hardness and the length of the cock in his hand. Merlin’s cock seemed perfect for his body. Arthur couldn’t help but squeeze tighter as he pumped his hand up and down, loving how his hand could reach all the way around, but loving even more how far he had to reach till he could flick his wrist at the head. Or maybe he loved most the fact that every time he gave a particularly hard twist of his hand, Merlin seemed to arch into it more, seeking the punishment. 

“God, Ar-arthur. I…” 

Arthur lifted his head from Merlin’s neck long enough to look the other man in the eye, to see him submit to what Arthur was trying to give him. What he saw was beautiful. Merlin’s mouth red and swollen opened wide as he panted harder and harder. But still they moved, as if trying to form words even through the haze of pleasure that he could not control. His brow was covered in sweat that mingled into the hair that Arthur had absolutely wrecked. Merlin looked like sex personified, a tease and a gift purely meant for Arthur’s taking, his protection. 

But it was his eyes that really caught the king’s attention. They seemed to be in a battle. Though opened wide, Merlin’s eyes were nearly unseeing, the fight strong. The colour flicked back and forth. Blue and gold. Blue and gold. Swirling and mixing until the colours were nearly indistinct from each other. A true war, lain clearly on Merlin’s face. 

Something deep within Arthur clenched at the sight, his hips stuttered even faster as he watched his Merlin fall apart. He moved his hand faster, seeking more and more to see the struggle on Merlin’s face. Neither boy paid any mind to the breeches now pushed half way down Merlin’s thighs, leaving his cock exposed to the open air. With more room though, Arthur took the chance to speed up his strokes, not caring if his hand was too rough or too dry, because the movements left Merlin keening. The noises like jolts straight to Arthur’s own cock. 

If he were a suspicious man, Arthur might suspect magic as the cause of his incessant need. Never with Gwen or any other person he had ever cared for, had he ever felt like this. Yet, to accuse sorcery of the cause of his attraction would be a lie. The beast inside his belly was fuelled by the words and thoughts he had not ever allowed himself to think on. The thoughts that would serve only to make his life more complicated, more difficult if he ever gave them voice. Though now that he’s given them a physical outlet, Arthur fears they will not ever stop. Not until they get what they want. 

The beast, the thoughts, the feelings all want Merlin. His Merlin, not magic’s. 

“I won’t let it take you from me.” Arthur whispered fervently, unable to help himself, some of the words from deep inside joining the living. 

For a moment his eyes registered shock on Merlin’s face, a sort of awe, hope and confusion all rolled into one. The look unsettled Arthur, made the beast inside him rear up louder and he could only think to shut all of it up the same way this had all begun: his lips on Merlin’s the kiss bruising and taking. He took ever gasp from Merlin’s breath, took the scream that would have been his name as Merlin came, white hot all over them. Arthur wished he wasn’t wearing gloves so that he could feel the sticky mess of Merlin’s seed, the very proof of his victory, because in that moment, his own orgasm was secondary, because the buzz of knowledge inside him was more than enough. 

Merlin was his. 

The silence that followed the crescendo of their pleasure was nearly deafening. All of the churning, aching thoughts inside Arthur’s mind suddenly evaporated into the air. The dragon roaring inside his stomach settled down easily, resting its head on its paws as if it were a docile and loveable creature. The fire that raged through his blood chilled to a normal flow, as if nothing had happened at all. It al left Arthur nearly empty, the rage, need and uncontrollable urges were gone. Leaving just a man holding another man. 

Suddenly exhausted, Arthur dropped his head between the crease Merlin’s shoulder and neck. He was sure his heavy breaths had to feel hot against the other man’s skin. Not to mention his armoured body draped completely on top of Merlin’s own. Now that the adrenaline was gone, Arthur found he could not even hold himself hovering above Merlin. Instead his body, chainmail and all, was resting heavily against Merlin’s. Arthur could feel every deep breath Merlin took opposite his own, the man clearly still trying to catch his breath just as Arthur was. 

If he was too heavy, Merlin didn’t complain though. In fact, neither of them said anything. They were simply lying together on the forest floor, bodies still entwined. In fact, Arthur’s hand was still holding Merlin’s cock. Though it was now soft and flaccid against his leather-covered palm. 

Arthur should get up. He should stop making it hard for a man as skinny as Merlin to breath by lying so heavily on top of him. He should stop taking deep whiffs of the wonderful smell of Merlin’s skin mixed with sex, dirt and sweat. He should take his hand off the other man’s cock and allow him to get redressed and cleaned up. He should care that there was a chance anyone could come traipsing through the trees at any moment and see the King of Camelot in a lover’s embrace with another man. 

But he didn’t. 

Against his will and better judgement, Arthur felt his eyes begin to droop shut. Despite telling himself not to, it was clear that his body was beginning to shut down after a long day. His body felt like it had seen a weeks worth of battles. Though it had been a long day. To think that just twelve hours ago he had been back in Camelot, greeting Count Angres of Windsor into his citadel. That Arthur had no way of knowing that he would have to ride off into the forest, that he would be attacked by both man and magic. That Arthur was ripped raw by realisation, laid bare by emotion. 

Because the truth was that though Arthur was tired, he was not moving because he simply did not want to. The beast inside him was appeased right now. It rested quiet and smug. He could nearly see its smirking face and finally he understood why Merlin always called him a prat.

He could not feel too bad about it though, because there was a certain sense of rightness in the moment. As wrong as most men would find it, in this moment, in this way, Arthur felt truly at peace. Merlin’s scent was earthy and appeasing, smoothing in a way he never thought it could be. Arthur took a deep breath; sniffing and he felt Merlin’s hold on him tighten. The sorcerer’s grasp had loosened in the throws of orgasm, but now he held on again. His hands played with the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck, like he was petting some sort of animal. 

Perhaps he was. 

“Arthur.” 

He almost didn’t respond. The moment was so clear and peaceful. Speaking felt dangerous. Could they not live forever in this space? Entwined and not worrying about the realities of their situation? Would Merlin do that for him if he asked? Could he? 

“Arthur.” Merlin said again, his voice soft as his breath tickled the hair near the king’s ear. “I will never leave you. Nothing will ever take me away from you.” 

Oh how Arthur wished that that were possible. His heart sang with the promise made, even as his brain swore that it could not be so. But still, it was a beautiful thought. Merlin at his side forever. Merlin’s stupid smile, his laugh, his grin. His wisdom would do Arthur a world of good in ruling Camelot as he sought to bring peace to the lands around him. And there was no one that ever made Arthur believe in himself more than Merlin.

In that moment Arthur felt that he would do anything in order to keep that dream alive. 

“Go to sleep Merlin.” He ended up saying instead. His voice was still muffled in the man’s shoulder, though he did release Merlin’s cock and turn on his side enough to pull up his servant’s pants. “We have to start riding early.” 

There was no way he could miss Merlin’s sigh, not still lying on his chest as he was. Guilt tried to work its way though his heart, but Arthur squeezed his eyes tighter and told it to shut up. It took a moment, but finally he got himself under control long enough to hear Merlin’s sad, yet resigned. “Yes, Sire.” 

With the matter settled, Arthur rested his chin more comfortably on Merlin’s shoulder. The day’s intense emotional and physical journey finally caught up to him and he could feel himself falling into sleep. They wouldn’t be the most comfortable sleeping like this, and there was still the risk that someone would stumble upon them, but he was not planning on moving and it seemed that Merlin was not either. They would be fine for the night, though hopefully the fire wouldn’t go out, or they’d end up chilled during the evening. 

That was the last thought Arthur had before sleep finally took over his brain. Because the feel of a thin blanket gentling placing itself on top of the both of them had to be purely his imagination. 

\------

The sound of birds chirping pleasantly in the trees was usually one associated with peace and early morning happiness. Today, the sound just made Arthur want to throw his dagger at something. Preferably the creature waking him. His head was killing him, and his body hurt in places it did not usually ache. Had he drunk too much last night? Perhaps. Though the festivities were not supposed to officially start yet, a grand dinner had been planned in honour of Count Angres’s arrival. Maybe had had over indulged because Angres was…

Angres. 

Arthur nearly shot straight up. The memories of the past day rammed their way into his mind all at once, doing nothing to help the ache of his head. The good point was that he was not hung over. The bad part was that his kingdom lay in the balance of a silly Druid ritual and that his best friend was a Sorcerer. 

Said friend was also draped across him, still deep in sleep. It was a good thing that Arthur had not shot up in his sudden shock, or he would have woken up Merlin in the process. Though it seemed they had moved in the night. Instead of Arthur lying half on top of Merlin’s lanky frame, Arthur was instead curled around Merlin’s back like two spoons resting together. One arm was stuck, tingling with lack of blood flow, underneath Merlin’s head as a pillow. The other was wrapped around Merlin’s waist, pulling the man close to him. Merlin’s own arms were pulling them closer together, his hands at his waste, entangled with Arthur’s. 

Lying on top of them was the thin blanket Arthur had made Merlin pack for them. 

So it was true. Merlin could do magic. Inside him, lived a power that could kill five grown men instantly on the spot, with barely a movement or word. But that could also provide warmth in the form of a simple blanket thrown across their bodies in the chill of early autumn night. 

A part of his brain, the treacherous part that had previously been so easily ignored, but now lived loud and clear in his mind, told him to leave Merlin be. Let the boy sleep, stay curled up together and let the moment live on in peace. The other part of him remembered that there was a kingdom at stake if they did not use their time wisely. It was at least another three-quarters day ride till they arrived at Three Cliffs Bay. There was no time they could waste. 

“Merlin.” Arthur said softly, his thumb unconsciously rubbing circles on Merlin’s belly. The man grumbled and stirred, but he did not wake. In fact, he only curled more into himself, pushing his body farther against Arthur’s and he was reminded very clearly of the activities they got up to last night. The feel of Merlin’s cock, hard in his hand. The beautiful gasps and moans that he made each time Arthur sucked on his pulse point, nipping it raw and red. 

“Merlin, you have to get up now!” 

This time his voice was not so gentle and Merlin jumped up immediately. Arthur watched as the other man looked around confused, blinking his eyes in a disorganised manner before finally turning to look at his king. 

“Arthur?” 

The blond just rolled his eyes. Trust Merlin to say the most idiotically endearing thing possible after such a time. “Yes, Merlin, I’m Arthur. Your King. Now get up. We need to be going on.” 

Arthur pulled his body away from Merlin’s feeling suddenly cold even though the sun was already beginning to beat high in the sky. He forced the thoughts away and instead began to roll up the blanket. That was, of course, Merlin’s job, but he did it anyway. Anything to speed along the process and keep his hands busy. Right now he could not trust them on their own. Idle hands were the devil’s playground, as his nurse would tell him as child. 

After some time, Merlin finally got up from the ground and moved to smother the cooling embers of their fire and pick up their night’s worth of items. They had packed lightly and used very little so far, so they should be back on the trail again soon. They just had to stay focused and not get distracted. No more bandits. No more thoughts that threatened to cause Arthur’s brain to leak from his head. Just journeying onward towards the next adventure. The same thing as usual. 

It didn’t take long, especially not with both of them silent to not distract each other. (Arthur did not at all notice the tightness in Merlin’s walk, as if he had not slept very comfortably. There was no way his eyes caught the purpling bruises along his manservant’s neck, round and distinct with teeth marks in between. And he certainly did not catch Merlin looking at him, a mix of fear, wonder and confusion etched plainly for all to see.) Soon they were on their horses and back on the trail towards the bay. 

The silence stretched onwards with them as they set a diligent pace. Arthur made sure that the horses gait was fast enough that they could not speak easily, but slow enough to not ware them out too early in the day. They’d have to break around mid-day to let the horses water and rest, but he planned for that to take no more than an hour. Unless, of course they were attacked again. Though he could have Merlin deal with any attackers, that certainly seemed the fastest way of dispatching them. 

Annoyed with himself for his thoughts, Arthur pushed his horse just a bit faster. Maybe if he went fast enough, he’d escape the truths that were now known to him. 

For years he had had Merlin at his side, a constant wonder and reassurance all at once. Arthur had longed to know what it was about Merlin that made him so special despite his lack of training or upbringing. What was it about the man that gave him a certain spark that no one could deny? From Arthur to the simplest small child, everyone looked twice at Merlin. And the man didn’t even realise it. He didn’t realise that for all the loyalty he felt for his king, the sorcerer had inspired even more for himself. Lancelot had trusted him; Gwaine had stayed for him. Percival had found a kindred spirit, while Elyan enjoyed watching his baby sister have such a wonderful friend. Even Leon, a knight long before even Arthur was, would never doubt Merlin’s integrity. Sometimes it felt that Arthur was only half of what was keeping Camelot together. 

And now he knew what it was about Merlin that he could never place his finger on. He was magic and everything that his father had always said was wrong and evil. Yet, to think that Merlin was evil was ludicracy at it’s highest.

Maybe Arthur wasn’t running away from what he now knew. Or even running away from the decision he knew he’d have to make. Instead, he was ignoring the decision he had already come to long ago. 

Like a moth to a flame, the king felt his eyes glance sideway as they rode throughout the day. He didn’t want to, he tried not to, but his body did not seem to be entirely his own. What made matters worse, every time he did so, Arthur found that Merlin was looking right back at him. The words unspoken between them seemed to shout in the air and it was all that Arthur could do not to scream. Even if only to tell Merlin to keep his eyes on where he was headed. It would be just like the idiot to run into a tree because he wasn’t paying attention. 

As they rode, the sun crept steadily higher in the skin. Sweat broke out along Arthur’s neck and leaked down his back like a salty, slow rain. He cursed the padding and chainmail he wore, but didn’t dare stop to take it off. They could not be sure what they’d face. Besides, he’d need Merlin’s help in order to undress in this state and that was not a risk he was willing to take. 

Soon, the passage of the morning into the afternoon could no longer be denied. His horse, though well trained for distance and endurance, was surely tired. Rumbling in his own stomach reminded him that he was human himself and did need nourishment as well. Thankfully, his eyes had picked up the increase in mud in the area, leading them both to a small stream. It wasn’t much, probably heavily dried due to the very hot summer, but it would do for the horses and to allow them to refill their own stores. 

Merlin stopped immediately upon signalling and didn’t waste any time in taking his horse to water. For that, Arthur was grateful. He wouldn’t have to deal with anything right now. He could just focus on planning the possibilities of whatever lies ahead for them at the bay. With his own horse drinking thankfully from the stream, Arthur reached around to take out his waterskin. He’d finish off what was there and then make sure to refill it in the stream before they left. 

Before he could do any of that, he turned to find himself face to face with Merlin. Arthur immediately dropped his eyes, not wishing to see what was being said there. 

“Are we going to talk about this?” 

“Merlin…” Arthur said, trying to stay calm. If he thought too much about what Merlin was implying, the anger and the need might come back. Had he not already proven that Merlin was his? Couldn’t they all leave it at that? 

“No, don’t ‘Merlin’ me, Arthur.” The manservant said. It was then that he finally looked up and locked eyes with the man. The look there was a mixture of so much it made Arthur weak in the knees. There was anger there, just the tone of voice had said. But also desperation that danced with sadness and fear. There was so much it was like Merlin didn’t know what to feel, so he just felt everything all at once. “You find out I have magic and say nothing? No, you can’t do that to me.” 

Arthur wanted to say something, but the words got lost in his mouth again. All he could do was stand there and stare wide-eyed at Merlin. 

“I’ve spent years terrified of what would happen when you found out. I wanted to tell you, I dreamt of it. But I was so scared you’d hate me or make me leave and you… god you don’t understand!” Merlin began to pace now, both hands lifting to mess with his hair. “I’ve devoted my life to you, Arthur. To you and the causes you fight for. But it kills me to lie to you and not be myself. So here I am Arthur. I’m a warlock. Can you handle that?” 

The correct answer, according to the laws of Camelot was no. He should be beheading Merlin right now. At the very least making his death quick and painless in honour of their time together. But there was no way he could bring himself to say that. Not to Merlin. 

“The law I am sworn and born to uphold says you must die.” Arthur finally said, his eyes boring into Merlin’s. He was sure his heart was laid bare for the warlock to see; yet he did not attempt to hide. “But the thought of you not at my side is impossible. I do not… I do not wish to lose you to this.” 

At those words Merlin smiled, a little sad, but a lot happy. “You won’t. I won’t leave unless you make me. And perhaps not even then.” 

That wasn’t what Arthur meant, not even a little. But it seemed he lacked the words enough to express what his thoughts were. Closing his eyes, he reached a hand out to touch Merlin’s arm, to feel him alive and there (his) for just a moment. 

“We should eat. We have a long journey ahead of us.” Arthur turned his back to Merlin, reaching again towards his horse. He did not see the frown that popped up on Merlin’s face, just as Merlin did not see one on his. 

Merlin retrieved more bread and a bit of cheese from the bag’s tied to his horse, while Arthur refilled his own water skin. He could have Merlin do that, in fact, most days he would. But right now he needed the time alone. Even if for only a moment. Tiredness of mind caught up with him again now that he was not riding with the wind. Arthur sank down onto the stream’s bank and watched the trickle of water flow past. From beside him, he felt Merlin sit down and hand him food, which he too silently. 

For a pair of men that bickered like old maids (Gwaine’s words, not his own) they had never been this silent around each other before. That, almost more than anything else, was nearly the most unsettling thing about the day. How could they not speak to each other? Them, Arthur and Merlin, who spoke of everything and nothing constantly. 

While he ate, Arthur searched inside himself for words to say. Yet he found nothing. Somehow the words did not wish to place themselves in a neat and orderly fashion so that he would have the chance to truly see them. Right now they were just a rush of jumbling blurs, all spinning through his mind and in his stomach like a web coating his insides. If this were a physical challenge, Arthur would whip out his sword and the cut the webs down to reveal the truth beneath, but instead he could do nothing but sit and wait for his mind and emotions to catch up with each other. 

Once he finished quickly eating, Arthur glanced at the sky. Not long had passed so far and their pace from the morning had been a good one. They could afford to give the horses a bit longer to rest to ensure hey did not tire too much. They were still necessarily to get home, after all. 

A piece of parchment found it’s way in front of Arthur’s face and he had to blink suddenly, rapidly in order to discern it. “What is this?” 

“The information about the rite you have to preform. If we’re lucky, we’ll be there this evening, correct? You should have an idea of what is expected of you.” Merlin said, and Arthur could feel the other man’s eyes on him. He didn’t turn to meet them. 

“Couldn’t you just tell me what I have to do?” The king asked, though he did reach for the paper to take it in hand. “Surely you know all about it.” 

Arthur was not sure what he was trying to imply with his words. However his words seemed logical to him. Merlin was one of magic, surely someone of magic would know of magical things. It was all very linear in his head, unlike the rest of his thoughts. The humph and sigh he heard from next to him told him he might be wrong though. 

“Having magic does not make me all knowing. I’d have saved us a lot of trouble in the past if I were.” 

Well if nothing else was going to get Arthur to turn towards Merlin that was. He found the other man looking sadly into the distance, his shoulders hunched. It was a look of surrender. No, not surrender, of exhausted. Like he had seen a thousand battles and knew he would yet face a thousand more in his time. “What do you mean?” 

That caused Merlin to turn away from the water and instead look at Arthur. The moment their gazes locked, Arthur was again struck by the urge to reach out to Merlin, to reach inside him till the magic was gone and replaced only with himself. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I devoted my life to you and Camelot, Arthur.” The voice in which Merlin spoke sent shivers down his spine. It was the same tone he used during his pearls of wisdom, the one that always made Arthur’s heart feel bolstered and brave, no matter the circumstances. “Every drop of my power has always been for you, even if you didn’t know it existed. There are things that I have done that I may not be proud of, but were the best I could do for you with the knowledge I had available.”

Arthur didn’t speak, but he did continue to stare at Merlin. He longed to know the details. What had Merlin done? Was it something spectacular that would allow him to supersede the laws that begged for his death? And just how powerful was his Merlin? He did not ask the questions aloud, but Merlin seemed to hear them anyway. 

“There is a great deal that someone with a lot of magic can do. You’ve seen that before as it’s tried to kill you and take your kingdom. But there is a lot of good that it can do as well. What matters is the intent behind it.” Merlin looked down at his hands as if they were not attached to his body. “My hands have killed, so that you would live. I’ve lied and misled and hurt. But I’ve also healed the sick and kept you alive so that you can live to fulfil your dreams.” 

“Why?” 

“To start, because it was what I thought was right. But now, I suspect it’s for the same reason you asked me to stay even though I have no place in Camelot.” Merlin’s eyes rose to meet Arthur’s again and this time he heard the words unsaid between them loud and clear. For the first time since Merlin had asked him forgiveness before revealing his golden eyes and awesome power, Arthur felt like they were on the same page again. 

Clearing his throat, Arthur finally broke eye contact, lest he give into the temptation to each for Merlin and pull him into his side; never to let go. “I’m the king, Merlin. I think I’m the one that gets to decide that.” 

“Of course, Sire.” And this time he did not miss the small smile on his manservant’s face, and Merlin did not miss the mirror on Arthur’s. 

\-------

“Are you sure we’re at the right place Merlin?” Arthur asked looking around. The environment was different than the sort he was accustomed to. It wasn’t often that he left the plush inlands to venture to the seashore. But not long ago the forest canopy had given way to a rocky soil only good for grass, until the trees were gone and only sand and sun could be seen. They had pushed the horses along the forest border until they reached as high as the animals could go. Now there was a steady incline left to follow. Just over the top of the cliff, Arthur could make out a small stone structure, already starting to crumble in the sea salt air. 

“Yes, this is it. Three Cliffs Bay, and the resting place of the founder of Camelot.” 

That was all well and good to say, but they were relying a bit on faith and myth here, with very little time left. Had Gaius not told Merlin anything more concrete in order to make sure they were in the right location? When the king asked, feeling peevish from stress, he turned only to see Merlin looked out over the top of the cliff, eyes half-lidded and serious. 

“I’m sure.” 

For once, Arthur did not question. Instead he nodded and clapped Merlin on the shoulder. The touch seemed to bring the sorcerer out of whatever trance he was in, and Arthur tried not to think about how it had been caused. What sort of Old Religion magic was in this place, that it would cause Merlin to react that way? Almost more importantly, what was Arthur getting into? 

“Make sure the horses are secure, we’ll need them for the return journey. We climb ourselves from here on out.” 

Merlin simply nodded in agreement, turning to check on the horses. Arthur looked over the area they were faced with. It was not exactly a mountain they were climbing, though the incline would cause them some trouble nonetheless. That would be especially true with the shifting nature of this sort of rock and gravel. They’d have to go slow and tread carefully. 

Silence again fell between the two men, though this time it did not ride on the waves of their heavy contemplation. Instead it floated between them much more peacefully, much like the breeze off the sea. A bit salty with words still not said, though pleasant nonetheless. 

Their silence was aided by the thinning of the air as they rose higher in the sky, at some points needing to help hoist each other over parts of land that appeared to be ready to fall through. Merlin was especially careful along through the hike up, his eyes down in concentration. IT was probably a good thing, as the servant was known to trip over a smooth, flat surface on any given day. Though Arthur suspected that the reason for his downcast eyes was not carefulness, but hiding. It was not the sunlight the king was seeing in flashes on the blue of Merlin’s eye. He tried not to let the fact that Merlin was still hiding hit too deep. Instead, Arthur focused on climbing, watching the sun get lower in the sky, even as they rose higher. 

Finally, the ground began to even out, the bits of grass giving way to even more sand on the rocky cliff they now stood upon. In front of them was what might have been a nice estate in the past. Even after years of decay, it was easy to see the grandness of the place that it had once been. The doorway was large and elaborate, even if the designs were wearing off. Something that may have been pillars with a family crest stood on each cardinal end, as if a beacon and a warning both. Surely, this was a home one would have been proud of. Arthur could not help but get a mental image of his father standing in the very same place, thinking the very same thing. 

He shivered as the image entered his mind, before he blinked to will it away. It was stubborn and tried to stay, and Arthur tried not to let that fact bother him too much. If he was effected by the depth of a place like this, how much Merlin be feeling. 

Turning, Arthur looked at the man beside him and found Merlin’s face open in a new and exciting way. He was looking at the stone building with a sort of curious excitement, like he knew there was something special inside for him, even if he did not know it’s nature. The reaction unsettled Arthur in some way, for magic had been know to trick and deceive many strong men before. He could only hope that Merlin’s connection with the place was a genuine and pure one, for both their sakes. 

“I’ll have to go inside with you. You’ll need a witness.” Merlin informed him, even as he still had his eyes locked on the building. 

“Did Gaius inform you of this?” Arthur asked, even as he reached into his belt’s pouch to pull out the parchment of prayer and instruction. He had glanced at it only briefly before. 

But the sorcerer shook his head, still looking at the doorway. “No. He didn’t.” 

Another feeling Arthur tried not to let unsettle him. He wanted to trust Merlin and Gaius, wanted to trust that all would end up being well. But it was hard to take al lifetime’s worth of mistrust and bad experiences go away. Magic had taken so much from him, had hurt him in many ways for both his name and his lineage. Why should be trust it to stop now? 

Taking a deep breath, Arthur led the way into the manor, not wanting to dally any longer. There was truly no time for them to waste. Besides, the sooner this began, the sooner this would be over. 

The door to the building was in surprisingly good shape for a place that should have been abandoned. It gave barely a creek when Arthur pushed it open to reveal the inside. There, he found a grand entryway that would have been elaborate in its day. Tapestries still hung, moth eaten, on the walls, hanging from high ceiling to floor. There were spots on the walls that paintings would have once lived, probably taken with when the estate abandoned the castle. 

There was a slam behind him and Arthur spun around quickly, his hand on his sword? He found only a sheepish looking Merlin and a closed door, which caused him to roll his eyes. The idiot. Not wanting to lose track of him, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hand with his non-dominant side and tugged him along after. Merlin gave no protest. 

Venturing further inside, Arthur wasn’t sure where he was going, though he knew it was the correct path to take. There seemed to better place to go than the room that would have held the throne, if this had been chosen as the kingdom’s capital. Somehow Arthur knew that he would find the perfect place for his ritual there. With little else to guide him, he could only trust his instinct. Or whatever it was that was leading him forward. 

Another doorway, this one even grander than the last, and Arthur knew he had been right to come here. There, in the middle of a large hall, sat the tomb of the man who had created the legacy he wished to inherit. Arthur did not need to read the etchings on the coffin’s side to know that this was King Mabon, the man that created Camelot. An intense urge to bow swept through the current king as he looked at the stone coffin. This was he; this was the man. Without King Mabon’s power and might, there would be no Camelot. No beautiful citadel, which he had played in, lived in, fought and bled in. There would have been no King Uther and no King Arthur. Maybe Cenred would rule them all in his twisted, uncaring grasp, Arthur nothing more than the son of a nobleman, maybe a peasant even, powerless to truly help the people. 

As if sensing his thoughts, Merlin stepped closer, squeezing their joined hands. “This is the place, Arthur. I can feel it, and I think you can too.” 

Arthur could only nod, knowing that Merlin would understand the enormity of the gesture’s silent meaning. With what he thought was reluctance, Merlin untangled their fingers and Arthur knew that was his cue. Merlin was meant to be at his side, but the show was the king’s alone. This was his time to find his worth, to see if he was truly worthy for the throne in which he had always been promised. 

It was funny, a day ago he would have laughed at worrying about this. He had set out only to get here and get back, his intent to shut Angres up before dealing with him in court. Now Arthur understood the truth of the situation, of many situations. It seemed to live all around him, the magic and the promise of destiny. So there was no hesitation, only humility, in his hands as he unhooked his belt, making himself powerless before the powers ahead of him. 

Next he knelt before the coffin, ready to begin reciting the words Gaius had left him. Before he could start, the strange feeling washed over it. Like the weight of the crown was being lifted off his shoulders, leaving only the man that had struggled to carry it. It was a strange feeling, like bickering with Merlin in a serene, more intense way. So it was with the same reverence that he had taken his coronation oath, that Arthur prayed to the Druid god. 

“Spirits of this ancient and sacred land, those of the earth beneath my feet, those of the sea before my eyes, those from the sky above my head, I am awake in your honoured presence. I, Arthur Pendragon of Camelot seek the ancient way’s leave to rule the lands and its people. 

Spirits of the ancestors long since and newly past, fathers of my people, mothers of my land, I am awake in your honoured presence. I, Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther, son of Igraine, seek the ancient way’s leave to rule the lands and its people.

I humble myself before you, the earth, the sea and the sky. Ancestors, I submit myself to you, to be but your servant in the ways of the people. I vow to honour the ways of our land, to put the land before all else, to bring prosperity to those I rule. With your leave, I seek the throne of my father. The spirits honoured, sea, sky and air, the ancestors remembered in this sacred place.” 

The end of the prayer was anticlimactic. Though Arthur felt a reverence and intense sincerity in his words, nothing happened. He was simply left kneeling in the middle of a ruined castle, far from home and many years older in only a day. 

Had he been wrong? Perhaps the frenzy of the situation had gotten to him. He let Angres’s ambitions drive him from his own castle, then let the discovering of Merlin’s magic lead him astray. Why would magic be on his side? It never had been before. There was nothing here for him to pray to. Getting to this room had been logical, not mystical. Of course he would fine the throne room easily, Camelot was surely modelled after this castle on Mabon’s orders. There was nothing magic about this. It was just him going through the motions. 

His feelings, his instincts, they had all been wrong. They had…

The coffin in front of him opened. Just like that. It didn’t shake or rattle as if something was coming alive inside it. Nor did it give any warning or indication. One moment it was closed, and in the next second it had swung open all on it’s own. 

Arthur quickly turned around to stare suspiciously at Merlin, but found that the man was staring at something above Merlin’s head. The look on his face was genuine and true, definitely not an elaborate lie. Arthur knew the man well enough to know that much, at the very least. Though he did not know what Merlin could be looking at and the king found himself oddly reluctant to turn back around. 

“Arthur Pendragon. I have waited for you.” 

The voice was strong and carried such weight that Arthur’s reluctance gave way to his intense need to turn around. Before him stood a man. Or what once had been a man. It was like he was trapped in between worlds. Neither pearly white like a ghost story would indicate, but not solid like a living breathing man. There was a certain air about him though, an air of death, in the way he carried himself without a moving chest or worry. More than that though, there was a strength about him, and Arthur knew that was his personality from live shining through. 

“King Mabon, Your Majesty. I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Before yesterday I was unaware of the rite necessary for taking the crown and I come here today to rectify that.” The knight of Camelot said, bowing his head in a way he had not in months. Though he may wear the crown now, the reverence for this man was back in droves. Like honouring his father a thousand times over. 

The half-man nodded, eyeing Arthur critically in silence. The lack of words stretched on, even Merlin did not break the moment, though Arthur nearly wished he would. Whatever analysis he was under must have been a good one, because there was a small smile on Mabon’s face when he did speak again. 

“It is not the rite of passage I speak of, Arthur, but of your very crowning. I know you come here seeking my acceptance and you will find that you most certainly have it.” The words inspired a rush of joy in Arthur that he had not known he needed. Though he had tried to play off the threat of losing the throne, perhaps it has bothered him more the he thought. 

Mabon was clearly not finished though, because his eyes were still firmly on Arthur, who could only stay knelt and listen. “The kingdom that I created is much different now, both from the passage of time and the passage of kings. Each has brought it’s own strengths and philosophies to the throne, and some have not always lead it well.” 

“I will do whatever I can to lead Camelot to what is right.” Arthur said, looking the long since dead king in the eye. “Though the rite I spoke was an ancient one, I do honour my word and my kingdom.” 

“Yes, so it seems you do. Inside my coffin you will find an egg, a dragon egg. This was the first item I found in the ground breaking of what would be Camelot’s citadel. For many years, I sought to hatch it, seeking Dragonlords far and near, though none of them could speak the name necessary to bring the creature to life. In the end it was a Druid leader that told me I would give the egg to the man meant to bring about the Golden Age. I now give this to you, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Before you lay a heavy burden and an important choice. The kingdom of your father, the kingdom that I created is on a precipice. Greatness is in it’s future no matter what, but whether that greatness is good or bad, is your burden. How you choose to use the power at your disposal will dictate the future. Choose well. ”

In the next blink of his eyes, King Mabon was gone, just as quickly as he had appeared. Arthur blinked rapidly, not sure if that had really just happened or not. It was quite a lot to take in after all. The spirit of the founder of Camelot appearing almost alive before you to tell you that the very fate of the country you rule rests on your shoulders. That you will either bring her to full greatness, or full ruin. It was like every word about honour and ruling power Uther had ever said to him, magnified a thousand times. He was the making or breaking of Camelot. 

No pressure, or anything. 

With a deep breath, Arthur finally made himself stand. There was no one for him to kneel to now. Only a coffin and the symbol of his rule inside of it. He just needed to retrieve it, even if the item was one that confused him greatly. What was he to do with a dragon egg? There were no Dragonlords left to tell him how to take care of such a creature. Perhaps it was the egg itself that was the symbol the spirits wished for him to ahve. 

The lid of the coffin opened wide enough to reveal the bones of a man. His arms were crossed in peace, while a crown rested on his head. On what was his stomach, rested a large red egg. Pendragon red. With a thanks and an apology, Arthur reached into King Mabon’s sacred resting space and retrieved the item he was supposed to take. He suppressed the feeling of being a grave robber and instead focused on the odd warmth of the egg in his hands. Even through his gloves, he could feel it. Like it was alive somehow, even after hundreds of years. 

With the symbol secure and the rite complete, it was time to go home. Arthur turned to tell Merlin that and found himself coming up short again. Merlin was not far away and certainly not where he left him. Instead, the warlock was standing just before Arthur, his hands out to reach for the egg. Arthur was not stupid enough to take this as his manservant suddenly learning his duties. Something was up, but Arthur could not stop himself from giving the egg to the man. 

“It’s still alive.” Merlin informed him with a scary sort of sincerity. The man’s blue eyes were locked on the red of the egg, and he held it like one would a child, close to the chest and protective. “Do you wish to bring it forth?”

The question was an odd one, and certainly one that Arthur wasn’t prepared to answer. In fact, he had been prepared for very little of this. “Is that possible?” 

Merlin nodded, still locking at the egg, though he glanced at his king for just a moment when he spoke. “Yes, it is. For a Dragonlord.” 

The implication of the words did not fail to reach Arthur’s mind. Balinor was dead, which meant the last of the Dragonlords should be as well. Yet here was his manservant, his warlock, offering to do what only a dead race could. Questions of the Great Dragon and the night of its demise popped into mind, but Arthur held them off for now. Instead he nodded to Merlin. “Do what you must.” 

The warlock nodded, excitement clear on his face as we went down on one knee to bring the egg safely to the ground. Once it was placed, Merlin’s hand gave it a gentle caress, like patting the head of a beloved child, before he finally stood back up. He took a few steps backwards, and Arthur found himself doing the same at the sight, though he said nothing. Instead, he watched Merlin’s eyes as they glowed like the setting sun, and listened as his voice dropped to an even new low, a grovel such as Arthur had never heard before. 

“Aethelind.” 

Immediately, the egg moved. It was tiny movement that Arthur nearly thought he imagined it, before it happened again, as a crack formed on the shell. One crack seemed to be all that was needed, before several more splintered across the egg, like a spider’s web growing in the night. Soon a piece fell off and a leathery looking wing could be seen. Arthur watched, mesmerised and awed, as the wing poked out of the shell and knocked away more bits to show the head and then the body of what could only be a baby dragon. 

The dragon shook itself off, stepping out of the egg easily, though it seemed to stumble on a bit. Arthur found himself reaching out to steady the creature before he even realised it. The movement wasn’t necessary, but did cause the creature to look up at him. The king was greeted with large amber eyes like caramel suns. Immediately, he was reminded of the colour that Merlin’s eyes took when doing magic. 

“Aethelind,” Merlin said, drawing the dragon’s attention. The tiny creature turned towards Merlin, immediately reaching towards him. The sorcerer knelt again and reached out for the dragon, taking it in his arms to cradle close to his chest. The creature made a noise that seemed like a whine that apparently made sense to Merlin, for he smiled and looked up at Arthur before speaking. “I am the Dragonlord Merlin and this is Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.” 

The dragon gave a tiny thrill of a noise in reply, fluttering his wings in what seemed to be happiness, before turning to look at Arthur again. He did not need to speak or understand the dragon language to understand. 

Looking at Merlin and Aethelind, Arthur knew that there were tough times ahead. Many secrets and half-truths still lay between the two men and their path was not a clear one. Some people would not appreciate a change back to the old ways, even as others welcomed it. War would surely break out no matter how he tried to achieve peace. While the court would need revising, starting with Count Angres and his camp. It would take work, but already he could see how the vision was possible. 

With Merlin at his side, the future was a bright one.


End file.
